


It Takes Two (To Make A Thing Go Right)

by ghostlin



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Non Shadowhunter AU, Office AU, but here we are, no-one asked for this, proposal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-05 00:11:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10293038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlin/pseuds/ghostlin
Summary: “You see,” Raphael’s gaze flits back to Simon once more, before he seems to come to some kind of internal decision. “We’re getting married.”Simon feels he has lost the thread of things; his mouth opens and closes a few times before any words come out. “Wh-- who is getting --”“You and I,” Raphael reaches out, pulling him none too gently over to stand by his side in the centre of office. “Yes. We’re getting married.”--Raphael is facing deportation, so he comes up with a plan. Simon is, as ever, his reluctant accomplice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After 2A laid all my Saphael feelings to rest, I wanted to write something fluffy because this ship is everything and I thought The Proposal would work well with a Mundane 'Verse AU. Unbeta-ed so comments and concrit welcome!

Simon’s face is warm with the sunlight filtering in gently through the blind. 

Just a few more delicious seconds before he has to get up. He grins lazily, stretching, before he freezes.  

Simon’s face is  _ warm _ . With  _ sunlight _ . 

He opens his eyes. The alarm clock on his bedside table is dead; he grabs his phone and pokes at it, cursing at the screen when he sees the time.  

“Shit.  _ Shit. _ ” 

Fucking sunlight. Raphael is going to kill him. 

 

\--

 

To his credit, Simon makes the shortish trip from his apartment building to Dumort Publishing in record time. He even manages to swing by Starbucks and grab coffee. Jogging across the road, tie askew, he waves apologetically to several cars who have to slam the breaks hard to keep from running him over.

Maia smirks at him from behind the front desk as he whirls through the revolving door. “Cutting it a little fine this morning, Lewis.” 

“Alarm clock, totally out of my control!” He pants, wide eyed, talking over his shoulder as he passes her. “And thank you, Captain Obvious -- oh,  _ come on! _ ” 

The collision had, admittedly, been entirely his fault. The coffee in his left hand has been completely decimated; it drips down the front of his shirt as Raj from Archives offers profuse apologies. Simon bats him and his proffered packet of tissues away and strides over to Magnus’ desk. 

Magnus regards him over the cubicle wall, blinking like a lazy cat. “Bad morning?”

“I need the shirt off your back. Literally.”

Simon can practically feel his heart in his throat; Magnus gives him another once over, wrinkling his nose. “I think I’ll pass on that one.” He ducks down, rummaging in one of his desk drawers before pulling out a folded shirt and handing it over. “I sometimes wonder if I should start charging for my services around this place.”

“Yeah, might want to rephrase that.” Simon stows the clean shirt into his bag, leaning over to clap Magnus on the shoulder. “You just saved my life. My  _ entire _ life. I hope you know that.”

“A weekly task, it seems.” Magnus waves him away, smiling. “Try to keep the shenanigans down to a minimum, Simon. Think of my blood pressure!” 

Simon catches sight of the clock on the back wall and almost squeaks in alarm. He manages an approximation of a confident thumbs up for Magnus, who is now shaking his head at him in concern, before ducking into the bathroom to change. 

 

\--

 

He’s just straightening his tie when the office door opens and Raphael sweeps in. 

It would almost be funny, the way everyone suddenly attempts to look as if they're busily occupied with important work, if Simon didn’t see that same reaction every goddamn day. 

“Good morning,” Simon offers brightly as his boss advances upon him. Raphael doesn’t so much as blink. He accepts the coffee from Simon, striding into his office without acknowledging anybody else in the room. 

Simon ignores the looks of sympathy he catches in his peripheral vision and trails after him. 

“I just got off the phone.” Raphael sets his coffee down, unwrapping the manuscript at the top of the pile on his desk. “Meliorn is doing the three book deal, but he still wants to negotiate the print run, so make an appointment with Magdalena as soon as she can schedule a meeting.”

Simon whistles. “Meliorn? Nicely done.”

“Your approval means the world.” Raphael says tonelessly, picking up his coffee. He frowns at it, reading the scribbled message on the side of the cup. “Who is Maureen?”

Simon shifts from foot to foot, mouth dry. “Sorry?”

“And why does she want to me to.” Raphael’s lips go thin. “Call her?”

“Ah. Well.” Simon swallows. “That was originally my coffee.”

“I see.” He watches, helpless, as Raphael takes a sip. “Why am I drinking your coffee?”

“Because your coffee spilled.” Simon whispers, wondering why one of the cars outside couldn’t have just hit him and negated the possibility of this conversation ever happening. 

“You take it black with no sugar?” Raphael tilts his head, considering. “Strange, I could have sworn you load in as much sugar as humanly possible. Unless, of course, you order the same as me every day, in case one of them spills.”

“What? No.” Simon toes the carpet, face burning. “That would be pathetic.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Raphael’s face. “Anything of relevance to add?”

“Yes! Yes.” He scrambles at the chance to change the subject. “Your immigration lawyer called, I told him you were booked until next Wednesday, and Lydia and Victor want to see you in Victor’s office ASAP.” 

“Fine.” Raphael says shortly. “Come on, you can wait by the front desk. We have to head to Archives after, there’s something I need to check with Raj.” 

“Great,” he mutters. Raphael shoots him a look. “I -- um. Maia scares me.” 

Simon watches a sharkline grin spread across the face of his boss. “Who doesn’t?”

Before he can reply, Raphael walks out of the office, motioning for Simon to follow him without looking back. 

  
  


\--

  
  


While Raphael heads straight into Victor’s office, Simon lingers awkwardly in the waiting area. Maia folds her hands under her chin and grins at him. 

“Crisis averted, then?” She gestures to Simon’s shirt. 

He pats his tie self consciously, grimacing. “Just barely.” 

“You might want to listen in on that.” 

“What?”

Maia points to the closed door Raphael has just disappeared through. “ _ That. _ That right there.”

Despite himself, Simon hovers closer, trying to catch the strains of the voices inside. “I... don’t eavesdrop. Usually.” 

“Sure.” Maia grins. The phone rings; she picks it up, attention momentarily diverted. 

He shrugs, turning towards the door. He can make out Lydia’s voice drifting through it; she sounds calm and measured as always.

_ “You remember when we agreed you wouldn’t go to the Frankfurt book fair, because you weren’t allowed out of the country while your VISA was being processed? And you went anyway?” _

Raphael murmurs something. His tone is as smooth and unshakeable as ever. Simon leans closer to the wood, jumping when Maia says his name. 

“Simon?” He turns; she’s holding out the phone. “Cleo is on the line. Urgent message for Raphael regarding Meliorn’s print run.” 

“Uh huh.” Simon says vaguely. He can hear Victor now. 

_ “We just spoke to your immigration attorney. Raphael, your application is being denied, and you are being deported.”  _

“Simon!” 

“Right,” Simon mumbles, glancing at Maia without really seeing her. He pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to Cleo, before knocking on the door and ducking his head inside. 

Everyone turns to look at him. Lydia is silhouetted against the window that spans from floor to ceiling; at the sound of the door opening, she stands up gracefully. 

“Excuse me, this is a private meeting.”

“I know,” Simon’s eyes flit nervously around the room. “I know, I’m sorry. I have Cleo on the line, it’s regarding Meliorn’s print run --”

“Yes, alright.” Raphael says, impatient, turning away. 

“But I just messaged her --” Simon shrugs, nodding apologetically to Victor, who is glaring at him. “I told her you had a prior engagement, so --”

Raphael stills. He turns back to regard Simon, expression implacable.  Simon shuffles a little, feeling kind of trapped under the weight of his gaze. 

“Prior… yes.” Raphael glances at Victor and Lydia. “Yes. I understand your concerns, and I can only apologise that this issue hasn’t been resolved sooner.” 

Raphael’s tone is even and unhurried, but his right hand is making an odd motion, visible only to Simon. After several confusing seconds, Simon realises Raphael is beckoning him closer. He slips through the doorway, closing the door softly and lingering a few awkward paces behind his boss. 

“You see,” Raphael’s gaze flits back to Simon once more, before he seems to come to some kind of internal decision. “We’re getting married.” 

Victor blinks, smothering an incredulous snort behind his hand. Lydia just stares.

Simon feels he has lost the thread of things; his mouth opens and closes a few times before any words come out. “Wh-- who is getting--” 

“You and I,” Raphael reaches out, pulling him none too gently over to stand by his side in the centre of office. “Yes. We’re getting married.” 

“We… are,” Simon whispers. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room. “Me and…”

“Right.” Victor appears to have recovered himself. His eyes narrow, flickering between them. Raphael appears impassive. Simon is doing his best to approximate a normal facial expression.

“How long has this been going on?” Lydia’s tone is skeptical. 

“Six months.” Raphael replies smoothly. 

“Wait,” Victor’s attention turns to Simon; he frowns, disbelieving. “Isn’t he your secretary?”

“Assistant.” Simon corrects automatically.

“Executive. It’s all semantics, really.” Raphael looks Simon up and down, appraising. “The truth is, all those late nights at the office... coffee runs… it wasn’t meant to happen.”

“No.” Simon’s ears have gone funny. Everything sounds as if it’s coming from a very long way away. Possibly underwater. 

“But it did,” Raphael murmurs, patting Simon’s shoulder. Simon doesn’t feel it. “Somehow.”

Simon stares at nothing in particular. “Some… somehow.” 

He’s dreaming. That’s what this is. 

“So, is this settled?” Raphael drops his hand, moving seamlessly back into ‘business transaction’ mode. “Are we good?”

Victor and Lydia glance at each other. They seem to be having some kind of unspoken conversation. 

Eventually, Victor shrugs. He nods at Raphael, steepling his fingers together. “Just make it official as soon as possible.” He taps his ring finger, unsmiling. “Talk to Immigration, and we can put this matter behind us.” 

“Congratulations,” Lydia adds, smiling between them. Simon manages a grimace. 

They leave the office in silence. Raphael barely even glances at him on the way out.

  
  


\--

  
  


Raphael is filing. 

Simon is standing, motionless, in the middle of the office, watching his boss carefully unwrapping the manuscript at on the top of the pile and taking sips of coffee, all the while murmuring his usual litany of unrelenting tasks. 

“So after Immigration and Archives, I want you to reschedule this afternoon’s briefing so that we can see Cleo as soon as possible.” Raphael leafs through the pages, neatly folding over the top sheet and making a few notes with his fountain pen. “There’s no point hanging around when we’re about to close the deal. And call Catalina to let her know we’re going ahead with the twenty thousand copy first print run…” 

He pauses, glances up. “You’re not writing this down.”

Maybe they had some kind of prior arrangement that Simon’s forgotten about. Maybe he fell and hit his head. 

“No.” Simon glances toward the glass door, makes sure no-one’s about to burst in on them. “I don’t know what’s going on?” 

His hand comes up to tug nervously at the cuff of his sleeve. Raphael’s eyes track the movement. 

“Look, Simon.” Raphael folds his hands together, fixing Simon with a neutral expression. “I’m facing deportation.”   
  
“So naturally I have to marry you.” Simon croaks. 

Raphael’s temporary stillness breaks; his gaze slides away as he begins to shuffle through the loose leaves once more. “Like you were saving yourself for someone special?”

Something in Simon’s chest goes hot and embarrassed. “Kinda, yeah!” 

“Relax.” Raphael lets out a sigh of impatience, like Simon’s deeply unreasonable lack of understanding is cutting into a valuable morning of work. “After a respectable window of time, we’ll get a divorce and be done with it.”

“It’s illegal!” Simon explodes. In the bullpen outside, several heads turn curiously in their direction. He strides toward Raphael’s desk in a futile attempt to press his height advantage. “And you’re not even -- it’s not --”

“I’m not what?” Raphael snorts. “Your type? Shockingly, you’re not number one on my list, either.” 

Simon just breathes for a moment, furious. He  _ knows  _ that Raphael knows that’s not what he meant. Raphael has been there all those nights where he’d rushed out of the office straight to the bar or restaurant to meet his date. He knows that Simon’s chequered dating history, both male and female, is as noticed by Raphael as it is by everyone else in the office.

Simon’s romantic exploits are common knowledge, just as Raphael’s are popular, and frequently speculated on, mysteries. 

“Raphael,” Simon stares at his boss, lifting his chin a little. “I’m not gonna marry you.” 

“Yes, you are.” He watches his boss inhale deeply and slowly, laying down his pen. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be out of a job as soon as I’m laid off. And the past two years -- all that overtime, those late night coffee runs, proofreading, all the awkward phone calls you make to HR --” Raphael smiles pleasantly. “It will all have been for nothing.”

Simon opens his mouth, closes it. 

“Glad we could come to this arrangement,” Raphael slides a file over his desk; Simon picks it up automatically. “Take this to Magnus, then we’ll get going.” 

 

\--

 

Fifteen minutes, later, they’re heading to the Immigration Application Support Center. Raphael walks fast enough that Simon has to trot to keep up; he suddenly feels gangly and awkward, all long legs and trailing scarf. He wonders if the change in pace is noticeable, considering they usually walk in perfect tandem. It’s not like can ask one of the blank faced New Yorkers passing by. 

They enter through a revolving door. Friday morning isn’t rush hour around here, apparently. There are a couple of people scattered about the waiting area; Simon can spot one guy snoozing underneath a newspaper. 

Raphael strides over to the front desk, resting a hand against the counter like he comes here on a regular basis. Reluctantly, Simon follows him. 

“We’re here to file a fiance VISA.” Raphael says briskly, sliding over a bunch of forms neatly paper-clipped together. “You’ll find all the relevant information here.” 

The clerk looks at him, and then at the papers, raising an eyebrow. He glances at Simon, who smiles weakly. “We just need to ask you a few questions.” He raises the bar to their left, gesturing them through into a small office at the back of the room. “If you could follow me.” 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“I have a bad feeling about this.” 

Raphael doesn’t deign to respond. Simon stares around the office, nervous; they’re sat in front of an ominous looking desk with a miniature flag on it, stacked with official looking manilla folders. He has the general feeling that they’ve been sent to the principal’s office for bad behavior. 

His sense of unease couldn’t quell a good old fashioned Star Wars reference, though. Obviously. 

After a tense ten minutes waiting in near silence, the door opens, admitting a man in an ill fitting suit with an unsettling grin on his face.

“Alright,” his eyes flicker between them before landing on Raphael; he extends a hand to shake; hesitantly, Raphael takes it. “Gentlemen. I’m your immigration officer, Mr Morgenstern. Marriage, huh? Tricky business.”

“Well,” Raphael smiles winningly. “We hoping not.” 

Mr Morgenstern barks with laughter; under the table, Raphael’s foot nudges Simon’s until he follows suit, and for a couple of moments the room is full of a tense, slightly high pitched jollity. 

“Will this take long?” Raphael smooths his tie, leaning forward in manner familiar to Simon. It’s his ‘I am in control, do what I say’ maneuver, and it has a 90% success rate when used on difficult clients and colleagues alike. 

Surprisingly, Mr Morgenstern does not capitulate. “Well, Mr Santiago, that depends.” 

“On what?” Simon says. 

“On whether or not  _ you _ , Mr Lewis, are intending to engage in a false union with Mr Santiago in order to prevent him from getting deported, so that you can keep your job at,” Morgenstern opens the file he’d carried into the office, scanning the top page. “Dumort Publishing House.”

Simon manages not to choke on his own tongue, but it’s a close thing. “Uh. Wow.” 

“Let me explain how this works.” With a snap, Morgenstern shuts the file, laying it on the desk. “Step one, a scheduled interview. I interview you both separately, asking all the questions a real couple would know about each other. Step two, I dig deeper. I go through your phone records, talk to your neighbours, your co-workers, your family members. If your answers don’t match up at every point,  _ you _ , Mr Santiago, will be deported indefinitely with immediate effect, and  _ you _ , Mr Lewis, will have committed a felony, punishable with a fine of 250,000 dollars and a five year stay in federal prison.”

Morgenstern’s face stretches into a smile. His gaze lingers on Raphael for a few moments, before he turns to Simon.

“So, Mr Lewis.” He leans forward like a predator sensing the weakest link in the pack. “How about you talk to me?”

Simon blinks. His mind is a roaring blank. He half glances at Raphael, whose face is impassive; however, his hand is clutching the seat of his chair, white knuckled.

“Nothing to say,” Simon murmurs. “We’re just… two people. Getting married. That’s what people do, right? When they’re in l--” he glances at Raphael, who is staring at him unblinkingly. “Uh. When they’re in a long term relationship?”

Raphael puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder, and he falls into silence. “We kept it a secret from our co-workers, of course. We wanted to maintain a professional working environment.” 

“Hmm,” Morgenstern frowns, making a note. “What about your parents?”

“Impossible, I’m afraid.” Raphael tilts his head, smiling a little. “My parents are long dead.”

Simon only realises he’s been looking at Raphael’s hand on him once it falls away. He glances up, realising Morgenstern is looking at him expectantly. “Oh. Yeah, mine are alive. Well -- my mom is, and my sister. I was -- we were -- going to go see them this weekend, actually.” 

“You look surprised, Mr Santiago.” 

Raphael blinks; it’s the first time Simon has ever seen him close to taken aback. “Not at all. I love visiting Simon’s mother.” He looks at Simon. “We were going to announce our engagement this weekend, actually.” 

“And where exactly is this engagement party taking place?” Morgernstern says. “Out of town, is it?”

Raphael glances at Simon. His eyes widen the minutest amount; to anyone not intimately familiar with Raphael Santiago’s micro-expressions, it wouldn’t register. 

“You could say that,” Simon jumps in. “My family lives in Alaska.” 

“Alaska.” Raphael echoes. “Yes. Of course,” his shoulders straighten a little, and he fixes Morgenstern with a defiant look. “Alaska.”

  
  


\--

  
  


“ _ Alaska? _ ” Raphael says incredulously for what must be the hundredth time since getting on the plane. 

Simon feels his hackles rising. “Sorry, is that inconvenient?” He hisses. “Maybe you should’ve picked someone in-state to  _ blackmail into marrying you _ .” 

“It wouldn’t have worked.” Raphael shakes his head, studying the binder lying across his lap. “Nobody else knows anything about me.”

_ Ok then _ . Simon isn’t sure what to say to that. Instead, he changes the subject, shrugging uncomfortably in his seat. “As if you know enough about me.” 

“Really?” Raphael shuts the binder with a snap. “I know you enjoy hazelnut syrup in your lattes. I know you play too many video games. I know that your knowledge of the Star Wars original trilogy runs about ten miles deeper than your knowledge of our filing system. I know --” 

“Ok, ok!” Simon glares at him. His filing is perfectly sound; he thought Raphael  _ liked _  all his annotated sticky notes. “Fine. That’s surface level stuff. I know nothing about you, nothing that a real fiancee would know.” 

He refuses,  _ refuses _ , to think about the word  _ boyfriend _ in relation to Raphael. There are limits, after all. 

Raphael is silent for a moment, contemplative. “Do I have any allergies?” 

“Shallots? Leeks? No... garlic cloves.” Simon says promptly. He waves a careless hand, glancing out of the window to hide his smile. “And the full spectrum of human emotion.”  

“Humourous.” Raphael’s face is utterly devoid of anything resembling mirth. “My point stands. We can fill in the gaps over the weekend.” 

“Fun.” Simon mumbles. 

He decides then and there to try and spend the rest of the flight ignoring everything around him, watching the swirling cloud base outside, and trying not to think about what’s waiting for them when they land. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update, AO3 has been so wonky over the past few days. 
> 
> Next chapter, familial shenanigans! Raphael being charming to Simon's mother is all I live for, tbh.


	3. Chapter 3

Simon’s dismal mood hasn’t lifted by the time the pilot announces that their descent has begun and the seatbelt lights have come on. 

Raphael hasn’t attempted any further conversation, appearing engrossed in the information in his binder. He barely glances out of the window as their plane dips beneath the low cloud base and touches smoothly down onto slick grey concrete.

Simon would feel offended on his hometown’s behalf, but even he has to admit that it’s not much of a view. It looks as rainy as ever; small grey buildings against a grey sky, the deep green forest climbing up the mountains beyond. 

“Ketchikan International Airport,” he announces unnecessarily, just to break the silence. “It’s been many moons, my friend.”

Raphael remains smooth and unhurried as they disembark, only grimacing a little as the cold air, heavy with precipitation, hits his face. Simon, noticing, grins. 

“Kind of a shock to the system, right?” 

He doesn’t expect to receive any response, but to his surprise Raphael lingers on the walkway, stepping aside to let Simon pass like he’s suddenly uncertain about something. In New York, he’d been all business, but Raphael’s the fish out of water here. Simon’s never seen him look nervous before, and it’s more than a little disconcerting. 

They make their way through the security gates and into the arrivals lounge without difficulty, and Simon’s almost begun to entertain the possibility they could get through this weekend without undue awkwardness when -- 

_ “Monkey!”  _

He barely has time to react before his mother launches herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck. Simon stumbles a little, trying not to choke; he catches her and just about manages to steady them before he loses his balance. 

“Mom,” She’s squeezing him way too tightly; damn, he really should come back to visit more. “Hi.”

After a few breathless seconds, she releases him, looking him up and down. “You look exhausted, darling. Have you been taking your vitamins?”

Raphael coughs a little. His timing is shockingly apt; it breaks his mother’s attention long enough for Simon to extract himself. “Mom, this is my -- this is Raphael.” 

“Of course!” His mom turns her delighted smile onto Raphael, who, to his surprise, comes up with a genuine smile of his own. “I’ve heard... I’ve heard a  _ lot  _ about you.”

“Mom --” Simon interjects, but it’s fruitless. 

“Good things, I hope,” Raphael extends a graceful hand, taking his mother’s and stooping to kiss it. “Raphael Santiago. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.” 

His mom practically  _ twinkles _. “Elaine, dear, please.” 

Simon looks between the two of them, appalled. He had not planned for this. He does not condone  _ any _ of whatever is currently unfolding in front of him. He must put a stop to it right this second. 

“It’s been so long since he’s brought anyone home, not since -- well.” His mom glances between them, biting her lip, before she grins. “He told me about his work, so naturally you came up, but he’s certainly managed to keep  _ this _ quiet.”

“Silence is hardly Simon’s forte, it’s true.” Raphael says lightly, and then they both chuckle, the traitors. Simon opens his mouth to snap a retort, but then he feels Raphael’s arm thread around his waist, sure and firm, like he does it all the time. “Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmurs. “Most of the time it’s one of your greatest strengths.”

It’s weirdly quiet, like it’s meant only for Simon’s ears. 

As soon as the thought crosses his mind he wants to shake himself. As if anything about this weekend is about him, or  _ them _ , or anything other than getting through this trip relatively unscathed. 

He’s so caught up by the weirdness of the whole situation that he almost misses Rebecca striding towards them, holding two coffee cups and smirking in an unsettling way. 

“Oh look, the prodigal brother returns,” she hands his mom a cup. “Sorry, they were out of syrup. So,” her attention turns back to Simon; she glances a few times between him and Raphael as if she’s measuring them for something. “You finally score in New York? Nice.”

“Hey, sis.” Simon resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Still working on the novel about -- what  _ is _ it about, again?”

“It’s called Shut Up, It’s A Surprise And I’m Working On It.”

She ruffles Simon’s hair and wrinkles her nose. _ It’s good to see you _ . 

“Catchy.” He wrinkles his right back at her.  _ You too. _

“You must be Raphael. I’m Rebecca. Older sister, general…” She pauses, tilting her head. “Simon-wrangler.” 

It’s then that Simon notices that since Rebecca’s arrival, Raphael has stiffened slightly, like he’s withdrawn a little bit. “You must have your work cut out, then.” His tone is polite, but cautious. 

“I really do, thank you.” Rebecca nods a little, grinning at Simon. “I like him.”

“That’s good, he’s coming with us.” Simon picks up his travel bag, hoping that they can get this show on the road already without further public embarrassment. “And please stop talking about my guest in the third person, it’s weird.”

They set off, Raphael and Simon’s mother leading the way out of the airport with Simon and Rebecca bringing up the rear, bickering quietly. Rebecca keeps shooting these weird looks at Raphael, like she can’t seem to work out what he’s doing here. Simon doesn’t blame her. He’s fairly lost on that little detail himself. 

“It’s only a ten minute walk to the harbor from here.” Simon overhears his mother explaining to Raphael. She looks like she’s about to link arms with him, or something. The horror. “Not too far.”

“The harbor?” Raphael replies. He glances behind him, catching Simon’s eye. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

“Didn’t Simon mention, dear? We don’t live on the mainland.” 

“No,” Raphael says smoothly, in the tone that means danger for someone. Usually him. Simon swallows. “He didn’t mention that.” 

His mom appears not to notice slight hunching of Raphael’s shoulders, breezing on. “It’s just a short boat ride away, and then we can get you two settled in. Oh, by the way -- there’s a small gathering of folks waiting to say hi to you, Simon!” 

“ _ What? _ ” Simon glances at Rebecca, who shrugs. “No! What? Who?”

“Relax, honey. You’re never home, people want to see you! It’s only Clary and her mom.” 

“Oh,” He brightens a little, cautious but optimistic. “Sure, ok.” 

“And the Lightwoods, and Maia. And Luke, obviously. Just a few familiar faces!” 

So much for optimism. “Wonderful. Perfect.” 

  
  


\--

  
  


Roughly forty five minutes later, Simon is exhilarated, covered with salt spray, and grinning from ear to ear. Rebecca steers the boat towards the pontoon with a little more grace than usual, perhaps mindful of the newcomer in their midst. While Simon had hung over the edge, dipping his hand into the water as they sailed out into the bay and chatting to his mom, Raphael had remained near the boat’s centre and flinched every time Simon got doused with a wave. 

“Is it really necessary of you to lean out like that?” He says in a low voice as they disembark. 

Simon turns his grin on him, shrugging. “I can swim fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just cool to be sailing again.” 

“You swam…” Raphael gazes out into the grey, choppy waters. He doesn’t shudder, exactly, but it looks like a close thing. “In that?”

“In the summer? Sure! Loads of times.” Simon stands, wobbling a little, as Rebecca gently nudges the boat against the pontoon and cuts the engine. “Mostly on purpose.” 

“He’s lying. It was Jace pushing him in, like --” Rebecca throws the painter ashore, leaping nimbly out after it and lashing the boat securely to one of the posts. “-- ninety eight percent of the time.” 

“That’s… factually inaccurate.” Simon mumbles. He busies himself with his and Raphael’s bags, hoping to usher them ashore before Raphael has a chance to ask who Jace is. Luckily, Raphael is preoccupied with disembarking, just as hesitantly as he’d climbed into the boat and then being swept towards the gravel path that leads onto the island by his mother. 

He helps Rebecca pull the cover over the boat and check it over before turning reluctantly toward the shore. His short-lived happiness at being on the water quickly dissipates as he remembers what’s waiting for him at the house. 

“Hey, don’t look so grumpy!” Rebecca pulls him suddenly into a one armed hug, startling him. “At least mom likes this one.”

“Raphael.” Simon corrects automatically, biting his lip. “What do you think?”

She fixes him with a look that’s far too contemplative for his peace of mind. “I think… if he makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

“That wasn’t a yes.” 

They begin to trundle up the pontoon, following the glow of the lights in the trees up ahead. Simon’s heart feels as if it’s hammering rather loudly. He doesn’t meet Rebecca’s eye as they turn into the driveway, his mom and Raphael waiting for them on the porch steps. 

“There’s something else going on, something you’re not telling me.” Rebecca shoots him a crooked smile. “But don’t worry. I’m sure the truth will be revealed in time.”

Simon manages a noncommittal shrug as his stomach churns unpleasantly. “Nothing to tell, really.”

“You know you’re a terrible liar?” Rebecca says, just before they get into earshot of the others. “C’mon, let’s go in before we run out of hor d'oeuvres! 

As Simon returns Raphael’s nod and accepts his arm, and they walk into the party together, all he can think about is the accuracy of Rebecca’s statement. He is a terrible liar, and he can’t help feeling like, for this insane plan to work, Raphael would’ve been better off picking just about anyone else on the planet.

  
  


\--

  
  


Jocelyn is the person standing nearest the door as they enter, and so Simon is enveloped into a reassuringly familiar flowery smelling hug just before Clary barrels into them, mane of red hair and determined force of will as always belying her diminutive stature. 

_ "Simon!” _

“Clary!” Simon hugs her tightly, gasping out a slightly hysterical laugh. “I’m getting a lot of hugs today!”

“Nobody’s seen you since Christmas, of course you’re getting a lot of hugs.” Izzy sidles up to Clary’s side, giving Simon another one, briefer and less dramatic. She gives Raphael an appreciative once over. “And who’s this?”

“Raphael Santiago.” Simon says quickly, before Raphael can open his mouth. He has the sudden desire to steer Raphael into the kitchen and shut the door on the lot of them.

His plan is scuppered as Jace and Alec appear in the kitchen doorway, holding bottles of beer. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” Jace smirks, winking at Simon as he glares.

“So I gather,” Raphael shoots Simon an implacable look. “Pleasure to meet all of you.” 

As he watches his friends quiz Raphael about everything from New York and his and Simon’s job to his preferred beverage, it occurs to Simon for the first time just how young Raphael actually is. He must be under thirty; his demeanor and position at Dumort Publishing make it easy to forget the fact, and yet his quiet, polite manner in the midst of a group of people his own age mark him as somehow, oddly, separate. 

He shakes his head at himself for thinking he’s hit upon some kind of revelation. Raphael Santiago is an elusive figure, what else is new? 

At that moment, Raphael throws him a pleading look from somewhere in the midst of Clary, Jace and Isabelle. Simon sighs and steels himself to join them.

He is hopelessly, helplessly out of his depth, and there’s nothing new about that either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates, I'm 100% still working on this! Also sorry if there's any Alaskan/American inconsistencies, I'm an Englishwoman so my descriptions are mostly based off Google Maps, my visits to California and Connecticut, and various seaside holidays in Cornwall and Scotland. Thanks for reading, as always!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to come and yell w/me about Shadowhunters, my tumblr is @twelfthbite!


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